26 July 2008 12:00 AM
I'm French-kissing a rock face and I don't want to stop. Because stopping would mean having to put my tongue back in my mouth. And if I do that I think I might never stop screaming. To be honest, I hadn't asked the rock how it felt about the situation. When you're 850 metres above ground clinging to a slippy, muddy and - most importantly - tiny metal rung sticking out of a cliff face, you tend to forget about etiquette.